For
example, stories abound that after Rev. Davis was famous, and
had many recordings and played many famous venues, he still gave
guitar lessons for $5 in his home, which could sometimes last
all day and include dinner.

Buffy
St. Marie:
"I did a tour with Gary Davis, Paul Simon and Ramblin' Jack.
We did this tour by car. We were driving like heck through these
winding roads. Gary Davis couldn't see the turns, so he'd be flying
all over the place. When he finally got out of the car, he kept
saying, 'Free at last. Free at last.'" (1)

Herb
Gart:
"Once, Buffy Ste. Marie was touring with Rev. Gary Davis,
and the Reverend was spending the entire tour trying to feel her
up. Pretending to fall out of the car -- whatever he could do."
(1)

Danny
Kalb: "I thought Rev. Gary Davis was absolutely the best
American overall guitarist. He's a total genius. If he had sight
he would have been more than a genius." (1)

Wavy
Gravy:
"I was married by Rev. Gary Davis. Dylan was there. Paxton.
Van Ronk. And they all sang 'Just A Closer Walk With Thee...'"
(1)

Robert
Shelton:
Before the end of 1961, he [BOB DYLAN] was talking about marriage...
planning the ceremony in detail. One winter night at the White Horse,
he told Suze and me how it would go: 'We'll get Reverend Gary Davis...
to perform the ceremony. Naw, he can just sing the ceremony. And
we'll have all the singers there.' (2)

Harry
Lewman:
"Tiny Robinson and Jerry Ricks told me a funny story about
the march song. Gary would play it for hours at a time - the same
song. Finally, Tiny would tell him: "Gary, you have marched
those guys all over the world, taken 'em into battle, shot 'em brought
'em back up again and marched them some more. Don't you think you
can give them a rest now?"
"Did you know that Gary Davis could walk into a room, feel
the walls and tell you what color the walls were painted? Tiny saw
him do that often and finally realized that he really could do it."

Tom
Kukes:
"I caught the Rev. at the Gaslight Lounge in the Village
in about 1964. I was moved big time by the music but didn't know
why. I was all of 18 yrs. old and was starting to pick some on
an old Gibson entry level student guitar.

His instrument was most impressive. He that that old huge Gibson
jumbo with the really cool pick guard. I just saw one like it
(35 yrs. later) for about $10,000. I also saw him up close and
personal at either the Retort Lounge or the Chessmate in Detroit.
At 18 0r 19 I had no idea what I was looking at.

Thirty five years later I've still had a burning desire to learn
to play the music I never learned as a youngster. I'll admit it's
a little unusual for a 53 yr. old businessman who's starting to
get old before my time to pick up this type of hobby. Perhaps
playing a little "Davis" will keep me young or keep
me from getting older any faster. By the way, I watched him do
the WASHINTON POST MARCH and actually started learning it from
a guy who actually went to NY to study with Davis. This is all
a faded memory in 1999."

Mike
Taub:
"I was fortunate enough to grow up in Saratoga Springs NY where
there is a great coffeehouse called the Caffe Lena. I worked there
washing dishes through high school, 1968-1972 and more, and saw
the Rev. there in 1969. Roy Bookbinder was leading him around at
that time. Gary played four nights, Thurs through Sun, and wore
us all out. He smoked these huge cigars, and played until 2:00AM.
We were all exhausted, but he kept going. Wouldn't quit. Amazing
stamina.

I remember that during "The United States
of America March" he got turned around and had his back to
the audience. Roy said, " I hate having to do this"
as he walked up to the stage and turned the great man around.

Gary's wife was also there, and whenever he started
to play blues, she started saying something like, "Now, now
Gary, no one wants to hear that trash. Play the gospel music."
She was quite loud and persistent. Lena came into the back roomwhere
we were all resting during the set and was rather flustered,"I
was going to say something to that woman, but she is his wife!"
Of course we wanted to hear anything Gary had to play.

Those were great times in Saratoga. An unbelievable
group of people lived in town, attracted to the Caffe. Bromberg
was getting his solo act together and played there a lot. Andy
Cohen lived there for several years. I learned to play guitar
from them, and it was great. In 1969 or 1970, Bruce 'Utah' Phillips
moved to town and changed any number of peoples lives (mine included).
Between the Caffe and his sheer force of personality he formed
a folk music union, as he would call it. This collective was called
the 'Wildflowers," and is a saga worthy of a book itself.
It was actually registered as local of the IWW, as Bruce is an
incorrigable Wobbly The union included Bruce, Andy Cohen, Jim
Ringer, Mary McCaslin, Martin Grosswendt, and a few others. Kate
McGarrigle was living in town at the time, with this great guitarist
Roma Barron, but I'm not sure if they were members. I was a young
high school kid who just was hanging out. The effect on me was
incredible, and of course the music was indescribable. The union
hung in there for a few years. My memory is that they went broke
after a festival organizer ripped them off, but who knows?

One more. His last two recordings for Biograph,
which include my all time favorite, 'Oh, Glory, How Happy I Am',
were apparently all first takes. Seems The Rev. said if he played
them twice they would have to pay him double!"

Rick
Blaufeld:
Back in 1963, I had just started playing country blues, and was
getting guitar lessons from any bluesman that would hold still long
enough, including Mississippi John Hurt and Rev. Gary Davis. Usually
I managed to corner them backstage at gigs, and was persistant enough
to get them to show me a lot of stuff. Of course they were being
very kind to me in the bargain!

One night, I went to a coffee house in Philadelphia
called "The Second Fret" to hear Rev. Davis perform."Backstage"
there was really upstairs, up a tight spiral staircase, with just
room enough for one person at a time to pass. Now, as the Reverend
was coming down the stairs, an attractive young woman was trying
to go up. As she approached Rev. Davis, she piped, "'Scuse
me, Reverend!" He at once reached out and accurately seized
her by the buttocks, saying, "Did you say, 'Squeeze me, Reverend?'"
Ignoring her outraged squeals, he managed to rub the entire length
of his body against hers as she pushed past him. He then turned
and seized the next person coming up the stairs in the same manner,
who cried out, "Reverend, I'm a guy!" Rev. Davis did
not immediately remove his hand, saying, "When you're blind,
boy, it don't make no difference!"

Easy
Ed:
"In the late 1970's I met Jerry Garcia, who had taken lessons
from the Reverend. I asked him about Gary Davis, and Jerry indicated,
among other things, that he didn't think that Reverend Gary Davis
was involved with the psychedelic aspect of the 1960's San Francisco
scene."

Barry
Melton: "In the early days of Country Joe and the Fish, me
and most of other guys in the band lived next door to "The
Jabberwock," a folk music nightclub in Berkeley. The club was
owned by a big, friendly guy named Bill "Jolly Blue" Ehlert.
The Jabberwock was only a postage-stamp sized place, so when Jolly
Blue got an offer to do a Reverend Gary Davis show, he decided to
promote it in the Berkeley Community Theatre. We were all in awe
of "Rev" and it was decided that while he was in Berkeley,
he would stay in our house. I remember he stayed there several days,
as we sat about the kitchen playing music hour by hour. I think
he'd played the "Ash Grove" down in L.A. and had dead
time between playing there and playing in Berkeley--this was in
late 1966 or early 1967.

And, by the way, way, your quote from Jerry Garcia
expressing the belief that Rev had nothing to do with San Francisco
psychedelia is stone wrong. The Rev DID participate in the psychedelic
aspect of the San Francisco scene, at least to a limited degree
while staying at our house.

Because I was the band's lead guitar player and--I
believe--the guy in the band most in awe of Rev, I surrendered
my room and bed for Rev to stay in. Things were fine for the first
few days he was there: We'd wait for him to get up in the morning,
cook him breakfast, take him on whatever errands he had to do,
etc., and sit around, smoke, and play music all day and into the
night. It was easy to forget that Rev was blind as we sat around
the kitchen table, listening to his songs and stories hour after
hour. Then the night of the big concert came and, as was the long-standing
musical custom, the Rev was paid in cash at the conclusion of
the gig. He brought me with him to collect the money and made
me read off the denomination of each bill was it was counted into
his hand, and I remember him stashing the larger portion of his
money into the sound hole of his Gibson J-200, while leaving some
travelling money rolled up in his pockets.

Well, the next morning I woke up and remember
having to go into my room to get some clothes or something out
of my chest of drawers. I was very quiet, as I could hear Rev
snoring and didn't want to wake him. Well, I got whatever it was
and I was headed toward the door when I heard in a commanding
voice,"Don't move or you're dead!". I turned around
to see Rev with a .38 revolver in his hand pointed in my general
direction, but sort of moving around so as to cover a wider target
area. I remember screaming something to the effect of, "No--don't
shoot." Rev replied, "One wrong move and you're dead."
Well, then I started talking a mile a minute..."Rev, it's
me, it's Barry, don't shoot Rev...I was only getting something
from my chest of drawers..." Finally, Rev said, "Is
that you, Barry?" The incident was soon over, and I had escaped
with me life. I guess, from his perspective, it must have been
kind of weird to be alone, blind, on the road 3,000 miles from
home and rooming with a bunch of lunatic young musicians many
years his junior. But to this day, the picture of Reverend Gary
Davis that sticks in my mind the most is early in the morning,
half-awake and blind as a bat, with a .38 in his hand pointed
in my general direction. It was one of the most frightening moments
of my life. I'll never forget it."

Rolly
Brown:In
the winter of 1969-70, I was co-chairing the Kent State Folk Festival
in Kent Ohio. We ended up booking Rev. Gary Davis, largely because
Folklore Productions, which handled many of the good folk acts
at that time, had no one else available, and because I'd heard
a recording of "12 gates to the city" and was impressed.
Manny Greenhill warned us not to give the Reverend any booze.
When my friend Don Hernstrom and I arrived to meet the plane,
the Reverend was nowhere to be seen. We finally asked a stewardess
if anyone was still on the plane. She gave us a withering look
and sent us back, where we found the Reverend (who was accompanied
by his 13 year old grand-daughter) asleep in his seat with an
empty fifth of whiskey portruding from his pocket. We woke him
up and got underway. He was affable enough, but kept saying, "I
shoulda brought my gun..." with references to what he'd do
if he didn't get paid the agreed-upon amount.

(Years later I read James Taylor's account of his first gig. He'd
opened for the Reverend at a club on Martha's Vineyard and, when
the owner refused to pay Davis and Taylor the amount agreed upon,
Davis, [he was BLIND, remember], had indeed pulled a revolver
and waved it around, maybe even shot once or twice, until the
payment was received.)

Anyhow, the Reverend made it clear, in terms that echoed Muhammad
Ali, that he was "the greatest", and no one had ever
been better. That evening, as we waited backstage for his performance,
and he listened to several student acts performing folk, blues,
and singer/songwriter stuff, he seemed a bit more despondent.
The quality of the acts was technically pretty good, and the Reverend
said to me something to the effect of "I USED to be the greatest,
but I am not now what I once have been..."

Well, I led him onto stage for the final set of the night, not
knowing quite what to expect. He was playing his Bozo 12 string.
I think he'd quit using the six because his coordination was going
a bit and he felt the 12 sounded fuller. He started out with "Keep
Your Lamp Trimmed and Burning". He looked like he might totter
over at any second, but the voice and the guitar were big and
strong, and the audience was transfixed. This was a bunch of white-bread
college kids who thought "folk music" was Judy Collins
and "blues" was Cream.
Davis went on with one amazing rendition after another, filled
with good humor and spirit. At the end of his set, these amazed
college kids gave him SEVEN encores, and wouldn't let him off
the stage. My eyes brim up a bit as I write this.

The next morning, we arrived at the Reverend's lodgings (campus
guest housing) early and hung out with him until his afternoon
workshop. Every time a young woman (the place was crawling with
pretty coeds) would enter the room, the Reverend would say, "Ya
know....the doctor says.......if I don't get a purty girl to kiss
me every day......I'm gonna DIE!!" Damned if it didn't work
every time! He was having a great old time, collecting kisses
from one young sweetie after another.

I had a Gibson "country western" model at this time,
and I played a bit for him (at his request). He kindly said, "You'll
be alright...you just keep on". He took the guitar from me,
brought it up to about an inch away from his face, and said, "Hmmmmm....mahogany!"
I guess he had that little bit of sight. Then we went off to his
2 hour workshop, where he sat in the student union basement and
played for 3 hours straight. I was just amazed by his hands, and
the music that came out of his guitar. There was counterpoint
and melody and bass movement, but his left hand seemed always
to be holding a chord. It totally transformed my vision of how
the left hand should operate. To this day, that weekend probably
did more for my guitar playing development than any other 48 hours
in my 39 years of intensive guitar playing.

At the end of the afternoon, we had two hours to kill till we
left for the airport. Reverend Davis had already been playing
guitar all day long, but he turned toward me and asked, "Well,
what do you want to learn?" I was dumbfounded by his generosity,
but recovered quickly, and started naming tunes: Buck Dance, Slow
Drag, Talk on The Corner, 12 Sticks,....he went through them all
pretty patiently. I didn't ask questions because I figured he
probably was just a great "ear" player, but when I had
trouble following him on the downward
chord sequence in Slow Drag, he finally, exasperated, said "C,
Bb6, F with an A in the bass, and Ab!"...so much for my stereotypes
about old illiterate blues guys...

After two hours of this, we took the Reverend to the airport and
sent him off to New York. I think it was about a year later that
he passed away. I envy those guys who got to study with him for
years in New York, but I also value the brief time I spent with
him, and I worked hard to make the most of it for a long time
afterward.

I saw a lot of the old blues guys perform: Lightnin' Hopkins,
Bukka White, Fred McDowell, Furry Lewis, Roosevelt Sykes, and
others. None came close to Gary Davis, in my opinion. And none
was more beloved. He was a man of great spirit, and he WAS the
greatest.

(1)
quoted from "Hoot! A 25-Year History of the Greenwich Village
Music Scene" by Robbie Woliver, New York, St. Martin's Press,
1986, pp. 45-46.